


Thought and Memory

by kvisan



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, References to Norse Religion & Lore, dag's baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kvisan/pseuds/kvisan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old gods return to a new world, and that which was lost is found again, though not in the form you expect.</p>
<p>(An idea about The Dag, crows, and Norse mythology that got away from me.)</p>
<p>This is effectively finished. I may add more in the future but for now I feel good about the amount that's here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the crows

Dag hated the crows at first, as they unknowingly passed through the ruins of the Green Place. They were like flies, she thought the second time they passed through, feasting on the corpse of Furiosa's home. Their hoarse voices seemed mocking, prophesying death. Dag glared at them. No stupid bird would soothsay doom to her.

Dag still hated them when she went out with the salvage crews to pick through the wreckage of the war party. The crows had picked clean the bodies of the dead, but they stayed perched on the dry, bleached bones and cawed at Dag and her Repair Boys until she ran at them, waving her arms and shouting. Then they exploded into the sky to circle overhead as the crews loaded up scrap and drove off. 

Dag hung out the window, watching with dismay as the flock followed them back to the Citadel. She took a pistol from her Driver and, ignoring his protests, fired it twice at the cloud of crows. They scattered, but quickly regrouped, and Dag disgustedly flung the gun back at its owner and sulked for the rest of the ride back.

She continued to hate them as they harassed her garden workers, roosted above her bedroom window, and set up a ruckus every morning just before sunrise. 

"There has to be a way to get rid of them," she fumed to Capable, who was presiding over several War Boys learning letters at a repurposed chalkboard in the machine shop. Capable shrugged. 

"Short of killing them, I can't think of anything," she said, putting down her chalk. "Here, write something for them to read, will you?"

Dag took the chalk, scrawled "CROWS SUCK," and stormed out amid muffled laughter from the better readers.

Dag hated the crows right up until the morning she found a little pale shivering lump outside on her balcony, directly below where the crows roosted. It had survived the fall, apparently, She was all ready to leave the ugly little thing to die, but as she turned to go back inside, something moved inside her. Dag froze, pressing her hand to her lower belly, and stared at the half-dead hatchling. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said, half to the bird and half to the baby. And again, that little movement. The wind kicked up, and Dag shivered. “Fine,” she snapped, and scooped up the bird. 

Kajura, one of the surviving Vuvalini, instructed Dag to make a soft nest for the bird and feed it diluted milk every hour. When Dag protested that she was too busy to provide hourly care, Kajura wordlessly eyed Dag’s slightly protruding belly and raised her eyebrows. 

“That’s different,” said Dag, patting her tiny bump. “It can’t possibly be this ugly when it comes out.” Kajura snorted, shaking her head, and dug around in one of her packs, finally producing two battered books. 

“Cheedo likes books better,” grumbled Dag, but she took the books anyway. One was hard-cover, called ‘The Wildlife Rescue Handbook’ and the other, larger one had no title and looked like it had been rebound by hand. Dag flipped through it curiously and found that it seemed to contain poems and stories, annotated by someone with terrible handwriting.

“The first one’s for the bird,” said Kajura. “And the second one’s for you.” And Dag could get no more out of her.

The bird thrived under Dag’s grudging care. After the first week it didn’t need to be fed every hour, and Dag only had to wake up in the middle of the night to feed it instead of staying up all night and trying to nap in between feeding times. And once its feathers started coming in, she had to catch bugs for it.

The crow’s feathers came in white, and stayed that way. Its beak and feet were too big for its spindly body, but it clung to Dag’s shoulder determinedly and started imitating her exasperated groans. Dag brought it to Kajura and the older woman chuckled and assured her that white feathers and groaning didn’t mean it was sick, so Dag just shrugged and accepted it. 

Dag’s book said there was no way to tell if the crow was male or female unless they did something called a DNA test, and the new Organic Mechanic didn’t seem to think he could do one, so Dag decided it would be a girl crow and started puzzling over a name.

Her other book made a small contribution there. It was a collection of myths and legends of the old world, and some of them made mention to a god who had two birds named Thought and Memory. The story called the birds “ravens,” but Dag’s wildlife book said that crows and ravens were related. She toyed with calling her bird after one of those birds, but decided in favor of something from the book that had helped her save the bird’s life: Avis. She figured that was neutral enough to suit a boy bird too if that happened to be the case.

Dag’s sisters began to take an interest in Avis now that she wasn’t an ugly, squalling, prickly lump. When Dag came down to the machine shop where Capable taught, Avis would flap awkwardly to perch on Capable’s shoulder and card her beak through Capable’s bright hair. Cheedo was wary of Avis around her precious books, but she let the bird hop after her hand as she wrote in the record log, trying to catch the pencil. Toast saved bits of food from her meals to give the bird when Dag’s work took her to the Arsenal.

Dag’s usual Driver liked Avis as well, and he fashioned tiny cuffs and a leash for her feet out of scraps of leather. “Lady Cheedo says they’re called jesses,” he said gruffly, fastening them to Avis. “So she won’t get lost from you.” Dag smiled at him, possibly for the first time since he stared back at her, startled, before he smiled back awkwardly.

Dag thanked him, then paused. “I don’t know your name,” she said.

“It’s Corvo,” he said, scuffing his foot in the dust.

“That’s perfect, said Dag, satisfied.


	2. the wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> old gods for a new world.

One day, a tall old man came to the Citadel. Dag knew him immediately when she met him at the lift, but she kept silent. Avis shuffled on her shoulder, and when the old man held out his wizened hand to the bird, she hopped onto it without hesitation. He whispered to her, then seemed to listen as she fluffed her feathers and squawked at him, and then handed her back to Dag. 

“Well met,” he said, looking at her with his one pale eye. His voice sent a chill down her spine, but she invited him to stay anyway. The stories were rarely explicit about anything, but they were very clear about what would happen if she didn’t.

Kajura knew him too. Dag could tell. But like Dag, she said nothing and only graciously offered to show him the few books she and Cheedo had. He seemed pleased by this, and inspected them with care. 

“Much that I thought lost has survived,” he said. “Thanks be to you.” Kajura inclined her head, acknowledging. 

“The tyrant who ruled here before kept much as well,” she said, the contempt evident in her voice. “Though he did little else but hoard his riches and misuse his people.”

“This I know,” said the old man. He took his tall walking stick in both hands, apparently leaning on it for support, but Dag saw the carvings in the dark wood glow slightly where his hands covered it. When he moved, a small symbol remained where he had stood the staff. Dag resisted the urge to drop down and inspect it.

“What shall we call you?” she asked instead. He fixed her with his singular pale gaze again, the hint of a smile barely visible under his white beard.

“I never lie about my name,” he said. “You may call me...Harbarð.” His lips formed the strange name, and Dag dizzily heard it and then seemed to hear it again as “Greybeard,” though he did not repeat it.

“Well met, Greybeard,” said Kajura. Her dark eyes were expressionless. He laughed quietly as Dag ushered him past her, out of the library. 

Furiosa was suspicious of the old man, but she politely offered him bread and mother’s milk at Dag’s behest. He ate and drank, seated among War Boys and Pups who kept a wary distance. They didn’t know it, but they knew him, and he knew it.

The next day, Dag showed him the wind farm and the gardens and the aquifer. He surveyed all of it with what was almost amusement, and then asked to see the library again.

This time, Cheedo was there with Kajura. She had her ledger open and was copying inventory into its pages, and Greybeard came to inspect her writings.

“You have done well,” he said, looking over her tallies and balances, and Cheedo actually beamed proudly and brought out more books to show him.

Dag left him in the library under Kajura’s watchful eye and went to find Furiosa.

“Who is he?” asked the older woman, mostly intent on the remains of the War Rig. The Repair Boys milled around her, picking through the wreckage.

“He’s a dangerous ally,” said Dag. Furiosa looked up at her, and seeing that Dag was serious, went back to sorting through scrap. Dag continued, “He knew old Joe. And he wants to see if we’re going to be open to his influence as well.”

Furiosa kicked the twisted remains of a fender, . “No friend of Joe’s-” she began ferociously, but Dag laid a hand on her shoulder and Avis cawed. A few Boys stopped their work and started watching them, but Dag paid them no mind.

“I didn’t say friend,” said Dag. “Furiosa. Do you...”

“Do I what.” 

“Do you believe in gods?” asked Dag, and she produced the hand-bound book.

Furiosa stared at her. Dag took a deep breath.

“Trust me when I say this,” she said, now aware of the attention of most of the surrounding War Boys. “He is a true god. Joe was a pretender. Joe knew him and lied to us about Valhalla anyway.”

Furiosa said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the book. Dag continued.

“He’s the one who welcomed your fallen brothers to Valhalla, and his honored wife takes half to her house instead. And those who died soft, they welcomed those, too. Fighting your sickness is a battle too, and it’s just as honorable! Joe lied!” 

She finished on a shout, and the War Boys were staring at her silently. They looked... different than Dag had ever seen them look. And then they weren’t looking at her, but behind her.

The Allfather stood there, staff in hand, and his clothes were cleaner and more whole than Dag remembered. 

“Much that I thought lost has survived,” he said once again, and Dag met his eye squarely. His voice was deep, echoing, and Dag could hear at once, the echo of the roar of engines and the cries of the dying, and the cawing of crows and the whispers of the pages of books. She suddenly felt the weight of thousands of years of knowledge in her mind, heavy and painful like solitude.

Then he looked to Furiosa, who stood stock-still with her bolt-cutters in her metal hand. “The Valkyrie sends her blessings to her sister.”

Furiosa dropped to her knees. Dag was reminded of Furiosa’s grief at the loss of the old Green Place, but this was different. 

Greybeard raised his staff, maybe in benediction, maybe in farewell, and turned to leave. His grey robes turned to desert-bleached rags again, and his long grey hair became a matted braid once more. Only his staff remained the same.

Dag looked around at the War Boys, who had begun to murmur to each other. Corvo was near, and he looked at Dag questioningly. Dag mouthed ‘later’ and he nodded. Then she followed Greybeard back into the hallways.

The next morning dawned brilliantly and awoke Dag with light filling her bedroom, because the crows didn’t make their ruckus before dawn. Avis was perched on Dag’s chair by the window, looking out silently. Dag got up slowly, donning her underdress and tunic and shawl, and when she wrapped it around her shoulders, Avis came to her and held out her leg for the jesses. Then they went to Dag’s window and looked out.

Greybeard was standing on the lower balcony, where Immortan used to address the Wretched, the flock of crows swirling around him. They were eerily silent, but when they spotted Dag, they set up a great hue and cry and Greybeard turned to acknowledge her.

“You’ve been feeding them,” he said.

“They gave me Avis,” she replied. “I thought to repay them.”

“One good turn deserves another,” he agreed. And then he turned back to the birds. 

Dag stared at him. The stories didn’t exactly portray him as trustworthy. Odin himself seemed to admit it, giving himself the names ‘Evil-Doer’ and ‘The Mad One,’ but this aspect seemed to bear some measure of goodwill toward Furiosa and the Wives. Dag wondered why.

As if he heard her, Odin laughed, and the birds perched on his arms and shoulders took flight. “Your wisdom serves you well, child of the dawn,” he said. “Know this: I have learned much since I died with the world. Gods cannot change, they can only be destroyed and re-created.”

Dag kept silent, and the old god--new god? continued. “Your people sacrificed much.   
Kajura’s sisters, Furiosa’s sister, your sister- they came in death to me and to Frigg. The first in a long time to come knowingly. And we will repay their sacrifices for you.”

He fell silent, and the birds came back to him, settling on his arms and shoulders and even his head. Dag felt tears well up in her eyes, thinking of Angharad and Valkyrie and the Keeper of the Seeds. Sacrifice and repayment. Avis nudged her cheek and made a little croaking sound, and Dag stroked her white feathers.

“Thanks be to you,” she said finally, and this time the god smiled truly at her. He was not a kind god, nor a merciful one, but when he made to pay his debts he paid them in full.

“Maybe I will return someday,” he said, and the crows left him as one, going back to their roost above Dag’s room. “Until then, may your knowledge grow to match your wisdom.” He tapped his staff on the floor where he stood, and this time made no secret of the light from the runes and the symbol that appeared. Dag felt the stone under her feet shake, and found a symbol there too. When she looked back up, the old man was gone. 

The next week, Cheedo fell through a false wall in Joe’s old rooms and found a veritable treasure trove of books. The week after, Dag found some insects that Cheedo’s books said were bees, precious and important to growing fruits and vegetables. 

On the horizon, storm clouds gathered. For once, the wind that spun the turbines and whipped Dag’s braids against her face smelled clean and cold. And for the first time in a long time, Dag thought maybe the world could live again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


	3. thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it is not one's belief, but one's actions that determine the favor of the gods

It rained, and the rain was clean.

After the scramble to set up proper reservoirs and siphons to the garden, Dag stood under the downpour, head back, eyes closed, the drops hitting her face like tears. Maybe there were some real tears as well, but Dag didn’t bother to distinguish. Real rain, from the sky, just like before. 

Kajura came out as well, onto the roof where the wind turbines spun frantically in the stiff breeze and vines grew untamed. She put her hand out cautiously, testing, and when the drops didn’t burn her skin, she stepped out into the rain like Dag, letting it soak her to the skin. 

“It’s a blessing,” she breathed, and Dag nodded in agreement. No matter from whom the blessing came, the rain would do nothing but good. Dag imagined the whole world filling up with water, the salt flats becoming ocean again, Furiosa’s Green Place blooming with new life. 

Capable came out to see the rain as well, with several Boys and Pups in tow. Corvo followed her, and came to stand beside Dag, not caring that what little paint he still wore was completely ruined by the time he reached her. 

“Whoever killed the world didn’t do such a good job after all,” he said wonderingly, watching the rain wash his arms clean. Dag turned to him and grinned fiercely.

“Damn right they didn't,” she cried, and spun exuberantly in a circle, her soaked hair and dress flying out around her. She stumbled on a rock and Corvo caught her, and they both laughed.

Capable and one of the older Boys, Grim, were shepherding the smaller Pups, and they were laughing and stomping their little bare feet in the puddles and splashing mud onto everyone who got too close. No one cared, everyone was too consumed with the joy and novelty of the rain.

Dag knelt in the wet clay, sinking one hand into it and recalling how different the mud of the Green Place had felt, heavy and malicious. This was the promise of life. She turned to Capable, and found that Cheedo and Toast and Furiosa had come out as well. 

Furiosa lingered under the rock overhang, disbelieving, but Toast and Cheedo took her hands and pulled her out into the rain. She made no secret of her tears, and she and Toast clung together, faces upturned.

Dag traced a circle in the mud, bisected it twice with an X, and placed her palm flat at the center where the lines of the X met. She closed her eyes and thought hard, picturing green things bursting up through the earth, blooming in a riot of colors she couldn't name, her people dressed in real clothes and not sand-blasted rags and leather, raising their voices in joy. 

Her hand sank into the mud, and for a moment she despaired of hearing an answer, but then the Citadel shook beneath her with a massive sound almost like gunfire, white light flashed through her eyelids, and the mud under her fingers hardened suddenly. Dag opened her eyes to find everyone staring at her.

"It completely bypassed the rods," said Corvo, stunned. "It went right for you. And you're not even singed."

"Look at the ground," said Kajura, and they all looked. The mud circle that Dag had drawn had hardened to iridescent glass, and the raindrops made little plinking noises when they hit it. Great burned cracks in the earth formed the X. One arm reached further than the others, and ended at Furiosa's feet. 

"But I never--" stammered Furiosa, "I never really believed...not after--"

"It is not one's belief, but one's actions that determine the favor of the gods," said Dag's mouth of its own accord, in a strange voice. "You are a worthy champion, Lady Furiosa."

And then she coughed, smoke spilling from her lips. Capable darted over, concerned, shoulder-to-shoulder with Corvo, but Dag waved them off, spitting out soot. "I'm fine," she croaked. "Didn't hurt me."

"Not even singed," repeated Capable, picking up one of Dag's braids and marveling. "I didn't doubt before, really, but this... this changes everything."

"Before, it was just stories from the Boys," said Toast. "but now you get struck by lightning. If that's not a sign, then I don't know what is." She held Furiosa closer, although the rain and wind were warm.

Dag dug her fingers into the mud at the edges of the glass plate, wincing as an unexpected sharp edge caught her finger. "We'd better put this up somewhere," she said, raising it to the light and letting the rain rinse the mud from it. 

Corvo glowered at her, seeing blood dripping from her cut finger, and took the plate with gloves he pulled from his pockets.

"Vilk, take this to the Architect," he said, and one of the older pups hurried over and took the plate gingerly. "And Factor, you go with him and make damn sure he doesn't drop it." 

That night, Dag had her first true dream. She knew it was true because it didn't feel like any dream she'd ever had before, crisper and more visceral. When she awoke with the crows, she remembered little of it but the feeling of trueness and the image of a great tree, with tall branches and deep roots and living things in its branches, cradled like children in the arms of a mother.

Avis was perched on the gunnysack of scrap seed Dag kept to feed the crows, and when she saw Dag was awake she squawked and flapped impatiently. 

"Yes, yes, I know you're hungry," grumbled Dag, swinging her feet out of bed and sitting up. She stretched, pulled her boots on, and stood up, which took more effort lately with her growing belly. "Are you hungry too?" she asked the lump, and giggled when it moved as if in response. "Too bad. You eat when I eat until you're all done in there." She dug a cupful of seed out and spilled a bit on her table for Avis, and then went out to dump the rest on her balcony for the flock.

A pup was waiting for her outside, shifting from foot to foot excitedly. “Corvo say bring you,” he piped, and grabbed her hand. Bemused, Dag let the pup drag her down towards the mess hall, Avis flapping along behind.

Dag heard the man before she saw him, and she didn’t even need to see him to know exactly who he was. He looked exactly as she’d expected him to, clearly taller than even Rictus had been, with a full red beard and long dreadlocks an even brighter crimson than Capable’s hair. He was telling a crowd of enraptured War Boys and pups an animated tale about slaying some great beast, and a simple silver pendant swung from his neck as he gestured. 

What she didn’t expect was to see Max at his side, shoveling rice and beans into his mouth like his life depended on it. Dag supposed it very well might.

The pup who had brought her tugged at her hand, and she looked down at him. He clearly wanted to go listen to the story, but she shook her head. “Go get Furiosa, double quick,” she said. He pouted, and she rolled her eyes and dug out a string of precious dried berries. “This is yours when you bring her.” The pup beamed and took off running.

Dag stayed just inside the door of the mess hall, waiting for the stranger to finish his story, trying not to stare at Max. He sensed her looking at him anyway, and his face contorted in a way that looked like he was both trying to smile and not to smile at the same time. Dag smiled in return, and Avis fluttered on her shoulder. Max looked at the bird, then down to Dag’s protruding belly, and nodded once, his expression softening into something like...relief?

Furiosa’s voice sounded in the hallway, questioning the pup. Max heard it too, and he put down his bowl and lurched to his feet as she came in. The stranger paused in his storytelling to look, and all the pups and War Boys followed his gaze. Furiosa looked up from chiding the little runner who’d fetched her and froze. Dag saw her make to lunge forward as if she was going to run towards Max, but Furiosa restrained herself and instead walked steadily to where Max stood. 

They bent their heads together, foreheads touching, and Furiosa gripped the back of Max’s neck like Valkyrie had done to her. Max hesitated, then mirrored the gesture. He murmured something quietly to her, and Furiosa gave a choked laugh, like she was trying not to sob instead, and they pulled apart. Dag had never seen Max smile quite like this before. 

The stranger grinned, his teeth showing white amid his firey beard. “Well met, Furiosa of the Green Citadel,” he said in his booming voice. Furiosa tore her eyes away from Max and considered the stranger. He stood and bent his head to her. “I have come to offer reparitions and to uphold an oath.”

“You’re a little late with the oath,” said Furiosa, her voice studiously even. The stranger nodded.

“I regret my delay in fulfilling it,” he said, and Dag heard the truth and sadness in his words. “But I can now offer more and better aid, suited for your current task.” 

He looked Furiosa up and down, taking in her shaved head, her metal arm, and her carefully mended clothing, and then he looked around at the gathered Boys and pups. They were just starting to become comfortable with breaking uniformity, a few of them growing their hair out and a few forgoing the war paint or making up their own factional variations. Some of them were even wearing shirts or vests.

Finally his storm-grey eyes found Dag, in the doorway with her bird on her shoulder. Corvo had moved to stand near her, and the stranger smiled at that. He turned back to Furiosa.

“I would be gratified if you and your people would accept my favor,” he said, and extended his big hand to her.

Furiosa clearly wanted to look at Max, but she held herself steady, and finally she took the stranger’s hand and shook it. 

“I gladly accept your aid, Thor,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “In the memory of my mothers who revered you, and my sisters who died carrying on your purpose, and in the name of the free people of the Green Citadel.”

As she spoke his name, a whisper rippled through the crowd of War Boys. Corvo nudged Dag. “It’s really him?” he asked, and Dag nodded. 

“It’s really him,” she repeated, and Corvo turned and looked back at the huge man standing among his brothers. The tall, lanky Driver had stopped wearing warpaint months ago, and now he wore a jacket like Max’s, worn and patched with scraps and carefully modified to fit him. Black driving goggles rested on his forehead as usual, just below his newly grown-in hairline. As he turned away from her, Dag noticed he’d stitched a design into the back of his jacket and filled it in with white paint. She reached out and touched his sleeve, and he jumped, startled.

“What?” he said.

“What have you painted on your jacket?” Dag asked.

Corvo suddenly looked sheepish. “Nothing much,” he muttered. “Just a bird. Like Avis.” Dag stared at him expectantly until he elaborated. “Me’n my- well, your crew, we’re callin’ ourselves the Crow Boys. We all got a bird on us somewhere.” He’d slipped into the more truncated mode of speech common among the Boys, with which he rarely addressed Dag.

Dag reached out and turned him so she could look at the bird on his jacket. It was a crude image, but it was clearly Avis, pale and gawky, white wings outstretched. Avis herself shuffled on Dag’s shoulder and then hopped to Corvo’s, startling him again. He reached up and petted the bird, and craned around to look at Dag.

"D'you like it?" he asked anxiously. Dag let him turn around again, and studied his expectant expression. For a War Boy, Corvo was fairly good-looking, with regular, smooth features under his various scars, and deep brown almond-shaped eyes. Dag had been surprised to find, when he stopped caking on the paint, that he was actually quite dark-skinned, much more so than Toast. He didn't look away from her now, absently stroking Avis, who was pressed close to his ear affectionately.

Dag looked around at the assembled Boys and spotted, indeed, a few white bird motifs stitched onto jackets and painted onto pieces of armor. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. The War Boys could have broken free, allied with Gastown or the Bullet Farm, but instead they chose to cleave to her and Furiosa and the Green Citadel. Crow Boys. Her Boys. 

"I like it," said Dag, and then she shucked her own jacket and handed it to Corvo, who beamed. "I want one. I'm a Crow Boy too."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love Fury Road and I also love Norse mythology, so I wed the two and this is its strange mutated baby, partly cute story about Dag and her pet crow and partly my feverish headcanons about the gods. I hope you enjoyed, I put a lot of thought into this. :)


End file.
